Dealing
by ToothFairy
Summary: TonyMichelle, set immediately after the events of season 4. One-shot.


_Okay guys, enjoy… Oh and a huge thank you to the awesome and amazing bookwoorm03, for the constant and persistent nagging that I finish the damn thing as well as the help with certain critical parts… ;)_

The drapes were drawn in Michelle's tiny apartment – it was the first thing he noticed when he entered. It gave it a dark, misty look; not unlike what he had seen underneath the hardness in her eyes twenty hours ago.

He looked over at her as she peeled off her jacket and dumped her belongings in the nearest armchair. Now she just looked exhausted and worn out, and he had to fight the urge to guide her towards the bedroom and take her to bed. This was undoubtedly what he would have done two years ago, what he _had_ done too many times to count; but now he struggled to remind himself that he was just a visitor in her home; she was not his wife and he had no right to make these decisions for her. He considered himself lucky she had even asked him to come home with her in the first place, and he had been so eager he had merely called Jen to say he wouldn't be home for a while yet instead of facing her with the truth like he knew he should.

Michelle turned towards him and smiled tiredly. "You want a glass of water of something?"

He wasn't thirsty but nodded anyway, irrationally afraid of an unknown awkwardness he had a feeling was about to fall upon them. They had gone out for a quick bite when they left CTU around 3pm, and it had felt like a dream to be sitting there with her, seeing her smile and being allowed to reach for her hand across the table and entwine their fingers. But now it was as if reality came crashing down on him again, and the thought of screwing up and letting her down again was absolutely terrifying, as was the possibility that she could change her mind once she'd had a few hours of sleep and was thinking rationally again.

He told himself not to think that way, that the look on her face as he was walking into CTU after his supposed death should be enough to assure him that this wouldn't be the case.

She handed him the glass and must have caught something in his face because she leaned closer to him and said quietly, "Tony? What's wrong?"

In response he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against him, unable to stop the instinct that had always been inside him to comfort her. "Nothing," he promised, speaking against the top of her head, "It's just… hard to take everything in, y'know?"

She nodded against him and he took a sip from the glass before setting it down on the counter and closing this arm around her as well. He pressed his lips against her hair and she lifted her head to look up at him, inviting him to kiss her mouth, which he did without hesitating.

What started out as a slow, gentle kiss in which they savored each other's closeness, reveled in each other's presence and reminded each other of the past, soon became steamy, then desperate. The heat flared up between them, and there was an urgency behind it that almost frightened him. His hands wanted to touch all of her at the same time and she seemed equally frantic, delicate fingers already crawling under his T-shirt and chasing it over his head. Soon he had her skirt of the floor as well, and she was hurriedly opening his belt when his brain finally caught up with what they were doing.

"Michelle…"

He gripped her shoulders and forced her back a little. Her eyes were lost and cloudy and desperate, and she seemed almost on the verge of tears. He had sensed a rawness behind her kisses that suggested she was acting on impulse more than anything else.

"Michelle, are you sure you wanna…?"

She was nodding vigorously before he'd even finished asking, and while his whole body was begging him to throw her on the counter and tear all her clothes from her body, his heart still hesitated. He couldn't bare the thought of her maybe regretting it later.

"Tony, please…" She pressed her face into his bare shoulder, her fingers slipping into his hair. "Please, I just want to be with you…"

The cracking in her voice undid him and he nodded, pulling her head back and pressing an almost bruising kiss against her warm, soft lips. His hands ran down her sides to the back of her bare legs, before ascending under her white shirt. He unclipped her bra, and she moaned as his hands slid up her sides and caressed her breasts, his thumbs finding their way under the now loose bra and gently flicking across her nipples. Her skin was just as angelically soft as he remembered, and he had to swallow the lump in his throat as his hands followed the once so familiar feminine curves of her body. His nose buried itself in her hair and he closed his eyes, relishing in her sweet, flowery scent.

He let her unbutton the blouse herself, knowing she could get the task done a lot faster than his clumsy fingers ever could, and her bra followed not long after. Her hands traveled up his bare torso to his shoulders and then down his back, and he shivered, pulling her closer and kissing her softly as her fingers hurriedly moved to open his fly. He waited till she had pushed his pants down his legs before grabbing her and lifting her up into his arms while he stepped out of them.

Not having a clue where her bedroom was at and not wanting to waste time asking her, he walked them over to the couch, fighting the groan in the back of his throat at the sensation of her bare legs around his waist and her breasts sealed against his chest. He shoved aside the quilt that lay folded on the sofa before gently laying her down across it. He rid himself of his boxers before he joined her, though his eyes never left hers. They were big and dark and vulnerable and aroused and he wondered, not for the first time, how with one look she managed to convey so much.

He forced himself to slow down once he was on the couch with her, savor her like he should, but the few seconds apart had only seemed to intensify her need. Her hands reached for him and tugged him down on top of her, her mouth seeking out his and a warm tongue rapidly making its entrance. He kissed her back hungrily, and for a few moments they were lost in just kissing.

When he suddenly felt moisture against the thumb that was running across her cheek, and he pulled back to look at her, startled. "Michelle…"

"It's okay," she said quickly, wiping another tear from her face, "It's okay, don't stop… Here…" She guided his hands to her panties, already lifting her hips to accommodate him. "Help me get these off…"

He would have asked again if she was really sure she wanted to go through with this if not for the look in her eyes – that frantic look of pain and desperation that he'd never been able to refuse. He peeled the article off her, bending down to kiss the newly exposed curls.

"Oh God," she cried out, new tears spilling onto her cheeks. "Tony, please, I just want…"

She couldn't finish the sentence and he kissed her neck and her chin.

"What, baby?" he murmured against her temple, prepared to giver her anything she asked for and more. "What d'you want?"

She slid her hand from his hip to his ass and pulled him toward her. "I want… I just want to feel you inside me again, Tony…"

He nearly lost control right there but he forced himself to get a grip, gritting his teeth as he nodded and eased himself between her legs. He really wanted to taste her, ached to push through her wetness with his fingers, but he knew she would lose it if he dragged this out too much. She always used to say he had a way of bringing her to the edge and then drawing her back again, doing it over and over until she was nearly out of her mind with pleasure. And while this had certainly propped up his ego, not to mention aroused him to no end, he knew it would not be a good time to tease her like this now.

So when he slid inside her, he focused on guiding her towards release. She easily picked up on his pace and his heart clenched as he felt her lips and then her whole face press into his neck. Her nails raked gently across his bare back, contrasting the urgency of their rhythm and causing goose bumps to appear on what seemed like every inch of his flesh. He couldn't believe how exhilarating it felt to be with her like this again, marveled at the reactions only she managed to draw from his trembling body – even when she was so close to falling apart. Tears were sliding down her cheeks now, and while half of him wanted to beg her not to cry, the other half knew it was good for her to get it all out. He kissed her hotly, and her fingers dug into his skin, urging him closer, urging him deeper; something she had always done but now the sheer notion of it was enough to bring him dangerously close.

She climaxed violently and cried out, allowing him to finally let go and spill into her. He stayed inside her, panting for a few seconds until he heard a tiny sob escape from her throat. He turned his head and started planting wet kisses on her even wetter cheeks, feeling a burning sensation behind his eyelids as a result of his own emotions. When he grew soft and slipped out, he gently scooted her over to the inside of the couch and sank down beside her. Then he reached for the quilt he had thrown on the floor earlier and wrapped it around them as she crawled towards his chest.

She seemed to have calmed down after a few minutes, but he still couldn't resist lifting her chin with his finger and asking quietly, "You okay?"

She nodded, reaching out and running her hand over his forehead. There was just the slightest hint of tired teasing in her voice when she said, "Don't worry so much."

He smiled at her, loving that unexpected sense of humor of hers, and loving her for using it when her eyes were still red from exhaustion and crying. He pulled her even closer, kissing her face.

"Go to sleep now," he murmured, combing his fingers through long strands of straight brown hair.

"Tony…" she said quietly, but he gently interrupted her.

"Ssh. Go to sleep, we'll talk later."

She rested her head against him, pressing an openmouthed kiss against his shoulder when he closed his eyes.

"I love you so much," she whispered just when he was about to slip out of consciousness.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, burying his face in her hair. "I love you…"

And she sighed as her body went limp with sleep.

--

He awoke to darkness, and was disoriented until he grew conscious of his ex-wife's warm body tucked against his and her sweet breath on his neck. Memories of what happened yesterday overshadowed him – saving Jack and Audrey, walking into CTU for the first time since his arrest, watching a woman be barely recognized slowly morph back into the love of his life. And then there was the scariest part of all; getting caught, standing by helplessly as she went through the same nightmare he went through eighteen months before. Helping Jack fake his own death, holding the whole world for fool in order to save his friend. Going home with her, watching her fall apart as they made love feverishly and then collapsed in a heap of exhaustion.

He swallowed, running his hand over a still sleeping Michelle's hair, so glad to be here that he couldn't speak even if he wanted to. He wondered what time it was, glancing around the dark room until his eye landed on the VCR. It was just after 4am.

He relaxed, allowing himself to suddenly realize what had awoken him in the first place. He needed to use the bathroom. Badly.

He carefully tried to pull himself from underneath her in the hopes of finding the bathroom through the darkness without waking her up, but she stirred, whimpered a little and grabbed his arm when she realized what was going on.

"Where are you going?" she asked hoarsely, her voice a mixture of sleepiness and alarm.

"To the bathroom," he was quick to assure her, pushing her hair away from her face and kissing her forehead, "I just need to go to the bathroom."

"Oh…" She relaxed visibly, and he reached for his boxers to pull them on. "It's through there."

He could just barely make out where her finger was pointing and said, "Alright. I'll be right back."

He moved down the hall, making his way through her bedroom to the adjacent bathroom. He saw familiar jewelry boxes and perfume bottles resting on the sink, and his fingers grazed them, remembering the fascination that had accompanied watching her get ready in the mornings.

Allowing himself a rueful chuckle, he shook his head and told himself to stop being so sentimental.

He did his business and headed back towards the living room, eager to join her on the couch again. She had turned on a small lamp when he entered the room, and was sitting upright on the couch with the quilt wrapped around her. He could see enough of her clothes scattered all over the room to know she was still naked underneath it. Her hair was still straight but significantly more tousled than it had been yesterday, falling on her quilt-covered shoulders and in her eyes. The small lamp made her skin look deliciously pale and smooth, and the image of her sitting there like that, still and calm and beautiful, was enough to make his heart stall out in his throat.

He smiled at her when her eyes met his, and moved forward. His injured foot suddenly stepped on something sharp, and he hissed and swore loudly in pain, feeling it break under his weight.

"What? What is it?" she asked quickly.

He bent down and picked up the tiny monstrosity, holding it in the palm of his hand as they both stared at it for a moment.

Then she started to laugh, grabbing the remains of the clip he had pulled out of her hair last night and dropping them on the coffee table. He chuckled now, too.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Doesn't matter. Is your foot okay?"

He sensed a hint of worry in her voice now, and he knew she was thinking about what the doctor in Medical had said – that he would have to be careful about infection since so much dirt and dust had entered the wound before it had been cleaned.

"It's fine," he promised, sitting beside her on the couch and patting her knee through the quilt.

He could tell she wasn't entirely convinced, but she cracked a smile anyway, sliding closer and leaning into his body. His arms automatically closed around her and mouth nestled in her hair.

"I'm so glad you're here," she murmured, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the hairs on his chest.

"Me too, sweetheart…"

She lifted her chin at the exact same moment as he lowered his, and their mouths met in a lingering, soothing kiss. They sat in silence for a while, but with none of the awkward stillness he'd been so afraid of earlier.

When her stomach growled, he laughed.

"You're not hungry, are you?" he teased gently, finding her bare stomach under the quilt and caressing it with the back of his fingers.

She smirked, closing her eyes and enjoying what his hand was doing. She swore he could still her hunger for everything that wasn't him.

"C'mon," he said after a moment, sitting up straight, "I'll make you some pancakes."

He headed towards her tiny kitchen and opened the fridge. When she walked in a few minutes later, wearing the black CTU T-shirt he'd had on yesterday, he turned to her.

Anticipating what he was about to say, she rolled her eyes and cut him to the chase. "I know, I know. There's nothing in there."

"Well, what about these?" he demanded, holding up a few frozen dinners. "How many times have I told you not to eat that junk?"

He was teasing her, and she didn't have the heart to tell him she hadn't had much choice. It was that or starve.

"I think there might be some eggs in the back," she told him helpfully, coming to stand beside him. A few seconds later he was holding the eggs triumphantly in his hands.

"Omelets it is," he agreed with a grin.

She sat on the counter next to him while he did the cooking, trying not to revel at how natural it seemed for him to be standing in her kitchen in nothing but a pair of ratty old boxers. It occurred to her that they were postponing the inevitable. Things were so relaxed now, so magnificently normal – with none of the desperation and awkwardness and caution that had occasionally flared up yesterday. Now things were as they had once been; easy conversation and teasing and touching each other at every opportunity.

She knew this was just an illusion. They were nowhere near where they had been when he was taken away. But they loved each other just as much – she had no doubt about that – and for now it was nice to sit here with him and pretend the last year and a half hadn't happened.

She let herself thoroughly enjoy their 5am breakfast, as both the food and the company were exceptional. But after they'd cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, she sat back down on her stool and decided she'd bring everything in the open, starting with what was most recent.

"Y'know…" She reached for his hand when she saw seriousness and worry cloud his eyes, reassuring him. She gently tugged him in front of her. "I didn't… I never went off the pill. 'Cause we… we didn't use anything last night…"

He felt a slow flush crawl over his face. He'd been so preoccupied with satisfying her desperate need that he hadn't even given it a thought. He imagined it was because he'd been used to not having to worry about that stuff while they'd been married – she'd been on the pill when they'd started dating and that was that.

He cleared his throat, hating himself for having to say what he was about to say, but equally knowing it was necessary. "I… I always used a rubber with…" He couldn't say her name when he saw Michelle's eyes lower. "She… she…"

He sighed. She wouldn't go on the pill because she said it would make her fat, and they didn't agree on anything as it was so he'd decided not to make a problem out of it. He simply lacked the energy to add to their already endless list of disagreements.

He didn't tell Michelle this, though. He shut his mouth, figuring she didn't need to know more than was strictly necessary. The details would only hurt her more, he knew.

"Anyway…" he swallowed, telling himself to wrap this up fast, "You don't have to worry about diseases or…"

She nodded, not saying anything but he knew she appreciated his honesty when she pulled him closer and rested her head on his bare chest. He ran his hand up and down her back, trying to gather the courage to ask her what he needed to know. It was almost disturbing how the thought of getting some disease didn't freak him out half as much as the mental image of her with another man.

"Did you…?" he licked his lips, exceptionally glad she couldn't see his face. "Were you… y'know… with anyone while we were…?"

He couldn't finish his sentence, and she lifted her head to look at him before looking away, slightly shaking her head and saying quietly, "No…"

He felt relief wash over him, which immediately made him feel like an asshole. He knew she must have had plenty of opportunities – hell, she'd had plenty of opportunities while they'd been married, except now she'd had every right to go for every single one of them.

Still, he'd expected as much after their lovemaking yesterday. She'd been exceptionally tight, and when she'd come he sensed an enormous physical release as well as an emotional one.

"What about you?" she asked softly, carefully searching his face, "Was there anyone other than…?"

He flinched as he remembered one drunken night, and an equally hammered girl that he hadn't even liked all that much.

"One… just once."

He felt like shit when she lowered her eyes and nodded. He wanted to tell her he'd used a condom with the one-night-stand as well, but deep down he knew this wasn't the cause of the tension he could see in her shoulders. He sighed and hurried to explain himself.

"I wanted _you_," he whispered brokenly, "I missed _you_, and I thought it would…" He shook his head, "But it never did."

She didn't say anything but she didn't pull away either. He let her get used to the idea. Finally she spoke up.

"And this was… before Jen?"

He scratched the side of his face, embarrassed. "Well… during, if you want the truth." When he saw her surprised expression, he quickly explained, "We… I once caught her with another guy, too. We didn't… It wasn't the kind of relationship where you got possessive."

She closed her mouth and didn't say anything. She knew these kinds of agreements existed within relationships, and as long as it was a two-way street she supposed nobody could really fault it. She just couldn't imagine being with someone, living with someone and not having that implicit trust and certainty that she had once valued so much in her own marriage. And she was sure that when he was sober, Tony felt the same way.

"What about…" she swallowed, confused as to why her heart was hammering in her chest like this. She'd already decided it didn't matter anymore, that they were starting fresh. "What about before I left? Did you ever…?"

Her voice trailed away and he looked at her curiously, as if he couldn't tell if she was serious or not. After a few seconds he said quietly, "No. Never."

She let out a breath searched his face before lowering her eyes. He stared at her intently.

"Is that what you thought?"

Her eyes remained on the floor until she forced herself to look at him. She shrugged half-heartedly. "It crossed my mind… yeah."

He was looking at her like she was crazy, disbelief and anger and guilt all written across his face. "How could you think that?"

She wasn't even sure if the hint of accusation she'd sensed was her imagination or not, but it still caused her to fling her arms in the air and raise her voice a little.

"How do you think, Tony? You disappeared for nights on end, you refused to tell me where you'd been and who you were with… And it wasn't as if _we_ were having sex anymore either…"

He threw his head back, forcing himself to calm down before moving his hands to her cheeks and making her look at him.

"I _never_…" He shook his head at her to finish the sentence, the intensity of his gaze almost making her forget to breathe. "I never even thought about it."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, reaching out and placing her arms around his neck without saying anything. He held her close, running his fingers through her hair as he spoke softly.

"I didn't tell you where I was because I was… embarrassed and ashamed and… scared shitless of letting you down. And I…" he swallowed and squeezed her tighter, knowing this would be even more difficult to say, "I didn't touch you because… because I thought I'd be messing you up, I couldn't stand the thought of… You were – are – so beautiful and so smart and so strong and I was such a pathetic mess…"

She squeezed him tighter. He realized his hands were shaking slightly, and rubbed them over her back just to give them something to do. She murmured into his shoulder when she realized he was done rambling.

"Tony, how did everything get so mixed up? How did we miss so many signs…?" She pulled back to look at him, her eyes moist but with a certain resolution in them. "We can't make these mistakes again, okay? We have to talk to each other, we have to… Because I can't go through all that again. I just can't."

"I know." He kissed her forehead and left his lips lingering against her skin. "I know. I promise you I'll do better, alright?"

She nodded, speaking softly after a while. "I just wanted you to talk to me. I… That's all I wanted…"

He kissed her hard on the mouth, which she eagerly returned.

"I'm sorry."

He realized it was the first time he'd said that since they'd started having problems. He'd been so blinded by excuses, by self-pity and by blaming her for not understanding that he'd never once stopped to think that he could remedy so much by doing so little.

"I'm sorry, too," she whispered, "I should've seen…"

He shook his head. "I know you tried, Michelle. It was me, I couldn't…"

"I never thought you were a pathetic mess, Tony," she interrupted him, looking him straight in the eye now, "But I must have given you some reason to think I did…"

Again, he shook his head at her. "No, honey. It was my fault, I don't want you-"

She made an impatient sound. "I won't let you take all the blame for this."

He chuckled at her indignity, which made her look surprised before she saw the humor of the situation and laughed a little as well. This was them in a nutshell – first letting their own stubbornness and determination ruin them and then fighting over who got to take the blame.

There was a moment of silence before she sighed and ran a hand over his cheek. When she spoke her voice was barely audible. "Honey, I would have sold my soul to the devil if I thought it would make you stop hurting."

His heart ached at her words, and he managed a nod. "I know." His voice broke a little.

"Really?" She searched his features. "Because I… I always got the feeling you thought I didn't care."

"I…" He swallowed and closed his eyes. "I tried to convince myself you didn't. Especially after you left. I couldn't…" Such pain crossed his face that she almost asked him to stop. "The thought that you were hurting as much as I was, Michelle… it drove me nearly into insanity. It was easier to think…"

He exhaled roughly and clawed at his cheek. Every day, the extent of how deeply he'd fucked up became clearer and clearer. He knew having her back wasn't going to change that. At least not for a while.

She pulled his hand away from his face, resting it in her lap and holding it in both her hands. She looked down at it to stop him from seeing the tears forming in her eyes, letting one of her hands travel up his arm. His heartbreaking explanations for his behavior during the months after prison cut her to the bone, as much as she knew they were necessary. She thought after all this time she was beginning to understand why they had ended up the way they had. When it came down to it, their first priority had been protecting each other from their own pain instead of talking about it and working through it.

Vaguely, she wondered if this was what happened when you just loved each other too much.

She blinked and looked up at him. There was one issue they still needed to cover, the issue she'd been most afraid of. She'd hoped he would bring it up, saving her from coming across as a controlling bitch, but he hadn't and now she couldn't stand postponing it any longer.

She cleared her throat, squeezing the hand still resting in her lap. _Be careful_, she warned herself, _Don't sound accusatory_.

"Tony…" she swallowed when she saw he was picking up on her discomfort, watching apprehension cross his features. "About your drinking um… I was just wondering, are you planning on…?"

His jaw clenched, and there was a hint of defensiveness in his tone when he said quietly, "I'll stop, of course."

"No I know," she told him quickly, still holding on to his hand in an almost bruising grip out of fear that he would go running if she pushed him too far. "But… do you think you'll be able to do it on your own, or do you wanna get some help or…?"

"I'm not an alcoholic, Michelle."

His voice was hard but his eyes looked like she'd slapped him.

"Sweetheart, I never said you were," she said, struggling to keep her own voice from choking up, "I just want… I just want what's best for you…"

He softened at that, sighing and talking a step closer to her while his free hand squeezed her shoulder and ran down her arm. "I know. I'm sorry."

He sighed again, searching for his words carefully. "But I… I really think I can kick it by myself. It wasn't… It's not like my body really needs it or anything, I just… it takes the sting away, y'know?" He scratched his cheek, looking ashamed of himself. "For a little while anyway."

She nodded. He hadn't had a drop of alcohol in forty hours, and nothing about him even hinted at any signs of discomfort or neediness. Still, she felt compelled to make it easier on him in every way she could.

"I have a few bottles of wine stocked in the storage room, I'll throw them out if you want…"

Immediately, he shook his head. "You can't protect me by keeping it away from me," he told her gently, "It's everywhere. The sooner I learn to deal with that, the better."

She looked at him and nodded, strengthening his resolve even further. She had no reason to trust him on this, but she did, and this alone was enough to swear to himself up and down that he wouldn't betray that trust.

He smiled at her, sifting both sets of fingers through her hair. He still wasn't used to having the curls gone, he imagined it would take a while before he was. His wife had always had curly hair – it had become one of his favorite things about her, something that had set her apart from the norm.

He was almost startled when her voice suddenly resonated quietly. "You don't like it?"

He shook his head and smiled. "I like it," he assured her, fingering the ends of her hair. "It's just different. That's all."

She nodded. "I wanted it to be different."

She didn't elaborate, didn't tell him she hadn't been able to stand looking in the mirror and seeing what he had seen. The curls had gone first, and she'd almost had a sadistic pleasure in that, almost wanting to hurt him the way he'd hurt her. After that she'd pushed all the outfits he'd liked to the back of her closet where she wouldn't have to look at them; she'd shoved all the jewelry he'd given her over the years into a tiny box that she'd hidden between old pairs of shoes in the spare room. Even the slightest hint of him had been too much to take.

But she pushed these thoughts away. They'd done enough talking for one day, there would be plenty more days for that and damn her if she wasn't to savor every single one of them.

"C'mon," she said, sliding off the stool and tugging on his hand. She pulled him towards the bedroom.

"Where are we going?" he asked, amused at her decisiveness.

She turned around and smiled, stepping into his space and brushing her lips against his neck. When she spoke her voice was low and suggestive.

"Don't you want to take a shower with me?"

He growled against her throat before finding her mouth with his and kissing her passionately. He lost himself in her kiss, in her scent and in the way her nimble fingers crawled in his hair and tugged him closer. Before he knew it they had landed on the bed together, and he pulled out of their kiss long enough to mutter in her ear.

"You don't ever have to use a shower as an excuse to get in my pants, Michelle."

She groaned and he traced her ear with his tongue teasingly. "We _should_ take a shower," she protested breathlessly, "We probably smell, and I haven't brushed my teeth in-"

He cut her of with a searing kiss, showing her how little he cared about how long ago she'd brushed her teeth. He almost laughed because he would never understand how a woman who paid so little attention to basic nutrition could make such a big deal out of dental hygiene.

"Ssh," he whispered as his eyes smiled down at her, "Just go with the flow."

She nodded, her own eyes closing when he kissed its way down her body. And unlike yesterday - when they their pent up emotions and desires had left no room for more than a desperate, hurried encounter – they were able to take their time. His mouth covered every inch of her body before moving between her legs. He was able to slow himself and her down at just the right moments, reveling in her breathy whispers that he drove her crazy.

When he finally slid inside her he kept his pace agonizingly slow, drawing out the pleasure, savoring her in a way he hadn't been able to let himself since prison and enjoying seeing her eyes close with every thrust.

"Tony…" she whimpered after a moment, hooking a leg around his waist and making her will crystal clear. He smiled teasingly at her as he held off satisfying her wish for another instant before quickening his pace little by little, building up the tension towards its unforgettable peak.

Her orgasm easily enticed his, and before he knew it they had collapsed in a sweating heap against the mattress.

--

Michelle left CTU for good a few weeks later. It wasn't easy – Bill had looked uncharacteristically disappointed, and Chloe had actually said she'd miss her – but when she stepped outside into the parking lot she was almost surprised at the intense relief flowing through her veins. It occurred to her that she hadn't done it just because Tony had asked, but also because she had actually wanted to.

He was there to meet her when she got home, and with one look at him she forgot all about the chapter of her life she had just left behind forever. All that mattered was him.

They were having a quiet breakfast a few days later, complete with a bathrobe and a pair of boxers and bare feet and soft, sleepy smiles. Her curls were back, hanging in a loose mess around her shoulders, and he couldn't stop himself from sifting a few fingers through them as she poured his coffee.

"Michelle…"

He was surprised to hear himself call her name a little later, wondering why he had picked now to start the discussion he'd been struggling to hold back for weeks..

Her eyes lifted to his and she made an affirmative noise, showing him she was listening. He swallowed, hating to bring back painful issues that had already been resolved but equally knowing he couldn't keep it to himself any longer.

"It's just…" He sighed, scratching the back of his neck, and willed himself to verbalize the mess in his head. "After prison… What I did to you, the way I acted…" He shook his head, "Why- _how_ did you manage to look past all that so easily?"

She looked a little taken aback, opened her mouth and then closed it. After a moment she said, "What do you mean?"

He watched her carefully, noting that she seemed genuinely confused, which baffled him even more.

"What I did…" he struggled to explain, "the alcohol, the anger, the neglect…"

She still looked like she didn't grasp what he was getting at, and he told himself he should probably be clearer. "It's just… when you agreed to start over with me…" he took a deep breath, "I swore to myself I would do everything I could to make it up to you. To make you forgive me, no matter how long it took. But it's like you…"

A look of understanding crossed her face. "I'd already forgiven you."

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her. His voice was so soft it was barely audible. "Why?"

She smiled at him and he shook his head, already anticipating her answer.

"Don't say it was because you love me, Michelle. That's not good enough."

He realized he wanted her to tell him it had been her conviction that he'd clean up his act that had driven her towards such easy forgiveness, and that she'd had complete faith that he wouldn't let her down a second time. That she wanted to see him redeem himself.

She sighed, looking as if she was about to protest but then she reconsidered, reaching for his hand. She fingered the wedding ring that was back on his finger, gloriously matching her own, even though legally they were still divorced. Her eyes met his and her voice was painstakingly soft.

"I guess it's because despite everything, you're still the sweetest man I know."

He stared at her, caught between thinking she was crazy and loving her even more than he already did.

"How can you say that?" he asked in disbelief. Other than the fact that _sweet_ was the last thing he'd call himself considering his behavior over the last year, it dawned on him that her answer probably wasn't any more satisfying than 'I love you'. "How can you even think that after what I did?"

"I'm not basing this on what you did, before or after prison," she told him, her voice still soft. "I'm basing it on what I know you have in you, in here."

Her hand now rested on his chest, over his heart.

He couldn't speak for a moment. She'd always seen the best in him, but he hadn't expected it to still shine so clearly through to her after all he'd put her through. He felt tears prickling in the corners of his eyes and pulled her into his arms so she wouldn't see.

"You know I love you," he choked out against her neck, "I always have, I always will."

He felt her nod against him, her fingers crawling into his hair as she murmured, "I know."

He released her after a moment, knowing he had to. It scared him sometimes how keeping her physically close to him seemed the only way to know for sure she was safe. He dreamt of taking her as far away from LA as she would allow it, but she was happy here. She was rational and reasonable by nature – she said they wouldn't be any safer somewhere else and they should stay and face their problems instead of running away from them. She said they would just have to be careful.

His instincts told him she was wrong, that LA would always hide more dangers than any other place in the world. But he'd come to realize there was one thing he valued even above her safety, as much as he'd like to insist otherwise. He wished to God she could be both, but when it came down to it he knew he'd rather see her happy than safe.


End file.
